Hit the Mark
by obsetress
Summary: Written for rachberry on tumblr with the help and prompting of her partner-in-crime qfabray. A  really tiny  framework tale. Quinn struggles to give Rachel the perfect 18th birthday.  Slightly AU if you consider the kids to currently be juniors.


Quinn Fabray is, like, _really_ good at keeping secrets.

It's still dark out as she pulls on her Cheerios letterman jacket, sliding first her right arm then her left into black, nylon-lined sleeves and tugging the zipper up a third of the way to rest somewhere around her belly button, and, swinging her bag over her shoulder, she walks towards her bedroom door, pausing briefly in front of her mirror to tighten her ponytail with a smirk that quickly devolves to a thoughtful smile as she rocks up on the balls of her feet nervously.

It's December 17th and tomorrow, Rachel Berry will be 18 years old. (_It's her golden birthday or whatever, too,_ Quinn reminds herself, remembering how Rachel's been gushing about it the past month: "...and so clearly, the correlation between a golden birthday and a gold star is extremely high," Rachel had explained, gesturing emphatically as Quinn had sucked uninterestedly on a supersized Diet Coke, nodding at Rachel every few seconds to feign interest.)

Quinn slides into her car, shivering slightly and sighing in relief when she hears the engine - and consequentially, the heat - starting up. She glances at her watch and, letting her head fall back against the seat, closes her eyes for a moment longer before stifling a yawn and pulling a brand new jewel case out of her bag. Ripping the cellophane off of the case, she opens it gingerly, sliding the first disc into her CD player, and, hitting pause, pulls out her phone, scrolling through her phonebook to find "The Happily To My Ever After" - when Rachel had taken it upon herself to reorganize her address book, Quinn had expected to find everything in alphabetical order by last name, not everything renamed with what Rachel thought were exceedingly clever monikers - and typing out a quick "be there soon" text.

As she pulls out of her driveway onto the street, Quinn glances one more time at the jewel case in the passenger's seat side pocket and grins. Quinn Fabray is _great_ at keeping secrets.  
_

* * *

This really hadn't been Quinn's intention._

When Santana, one hand tangled with Brittany's, had pointed at Quinn with her other and, accompanied by one of those toxic smirks Quinn had learned implied absolutely no good news whatsoever, volunteered her to go to the mall with Rachel in search of costumes for their latest number, what was happening now had been the farthest thing from Quinn's mind.

Even after she and Rachel had decided on costumes easily and without conflict in the first twenty minutes of their visit to the mall and had taken to walking side-by-side eating churros from the food court (Rachel had only smiled mysteriously when Quinn asked how on Earth she knew vegan churros were even available) and laughing about one thing or another as their elbows knocked gently against each other, Quinn still hadn't expected this to happen.

And yet still, when she'd convinced Rachel to try on "normal" clothes and Rachel had poked her head out the dressing room door and asked Quinn just how tight were skinny jeans supposed to be again with that hopeful, beaming look on her face and Quinn had surged forward to press her lips against Rachel's, stumbling into the fitting room with her, this was the last thing on her mind. Mainly because the only things on her mind at the moment were how soft Rachel's lips were and how delicious strawberry lip gloss tasted when there was still a hint of vegan churro lingering on it and oh my God_ - _sorry God,_ she'd thought hastily - she was kissing _Rachel Berry_ in a dressing room at Abercrombie and Fitch and _Rachel Berry_ was kissing her _back_ and she was _good_ at it- Oh my God - _sorry again_ - Rachel hadn't been wearing a shirt when Quinn had kissed her-_

And now here Quinn was, at dinner with Rachel Berry and her two gay dads, trying in vain not to think of Rachel in her bra any more than she already had.

Because seriously? Here she is, biting her lip on Rachel's front porch and looking down at those deep brown eyes and she has goosebumps from Rachel tracing nonsensical swirls on the back of her hand and she's nodding in agreement to "but I think it would be for the best if we withheld this unexpected but not unwanted development from the rest of glee club as to maintain a professional atmosphere" and "it can be like our own little secret" and now those lips are on hers again, but instead of churros and strawberry, they taste like Chinese food and strawberry, which is actually kind of weird, Quinn thinks, but she's already over it.

Quinn totally blows their little secret the moment she walks into glee the next day, though, eyes meeting Rachel's before falling on anything else and is promptly greeted with a "oh my God, you two totally hooked up!" from Santana.

But whatever, it's really not Quinn's fault she can't get the image of Rachel in her bra out of her head.

* * *

She pulls into Rachel's driveway seven minutes later as the sun starts rising, and, settling back into her seat, types out a quick "here" on her phone to send to Rachel, but here she is already, opening her door and scrambling into her seat as quickly as she can to avoid the cold.

Quinn already has the seat warmer on for her.

Rachel beams at her and leans over to peck her cheek and Quinn's murmured "hey you" is met with a disgustingly chipper "good morning Quinn!" as Rachel leans forward to turn on the radio.

"Hey, Rach, wait a second," Quinn reaches forward to grab Rachel's hand before it gets to the radio, tangling their fingers together instead as Rachel furrows her brows at her. "So I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow, but today's Friday, so I won't get to drive you to school tomorrow, and lately we've been listening to stuff I wanted to listen to, so..."

Quinn lets Rachel's hand go and her fingers immediately fly to turn on the car stereo, and as soon as music fills the car, Rachel bursts out laughing.

"What?"

"It's just..." There are tears in Rachel's eyes now, she's laughing so hard, "Quinn, I love it, but you're just..." Overcome with another wave of laughter, Rachel shakes her head and leans against the window.

"I'm just _what,_ Rachel?"

Rachel turns to look at her, and, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, smiles. "Even if you hadn't left the page for the _Les Misérables_ French concept album up on your computer when you went to get snacks two weeks ago, I hardly think hiding the CD itself under a couple of flimsy pieces of paper on your desk would be sufficient in keeping it a surprise, especially from myself."

Quinn blinks. "You- What? You knew?"

Rachel leans across the seat, then, sliding a hand around the back of Quinn's neck and lighting her forehead against Quinn's. "Of course I knew. Even if I didn't pride myself on being a little bit psychic, you're terrible at keeping secrets, Quinn."

Quinn huffs a little bit, and, pulling away from Rachel, who smiles happily to herself and reaches out to turn the music up, pulls out of Rachel's driveway. She'll prove Rachel wrong yet.

* * *

_Quinn's laughing as she hops out of Rachel's car, clad in red Soffe shorts and her not-quite-dry bikini top, damp hair whipping around behind her as she pushes the door shut, leaning in through the window to flash a grin at Rachel and meet her lips with a quick kiss._

She's still laughing as she walks backwards toward her house, wide-smiled and waving at Rachel, and it isn't until Rachel's red car disappears around the corner that Quinn finally turns around, slipping inside her door.

Her mother is waiting for her in the living room. "Quinnie?"

"Hey mom..." Quinn lets her tote bag slip off her shoulder and leaves it, along with her flip-flops, by the door, padding hesitantly onto carpet. "What's up?"

"Quinnie, can we... Talk?"

Quinn blinks, pausing before she sinks down onto the couch. "Yeah?"

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Quinn laughs nervously, trying to wave it off with an eye roll and a "yes, mom, I know."

"No, I mean it, sweetie." Well, her mother is nothing if not persistent.

"I know."

"I don't want this to be the kind of household it was when your father was a part of it, Quinn. I want you..." Her voice breaks a little, "I want you to trust me."

Quinn just stares at her feet, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

Judy sighs and her eyes flit down to her hands, folded tightly in her lap, before she looks back up at her daughter. "Are you and Rachel..." Her voice falters, but she swallows and continues, "are you and Rachel... Together?"

Quinn's head snaps up to stare at her mother. This conversation was going to be harder than anything Sue Sylvester could dream of.

A few minutes later, though, Judy's laughing over a glass of Diet Sprite, and Quinn, mortified, is staring at a red and blue pinstriped straw bobbing slowly up and down in the can of Diet Coke sitting in front of her.

"Really, Quinnie, I don't know how you thought you were keeping it a secret, with all your little sleepovers-"

"Mom!"

"And your movie nights... Sweetie, I may be older, but I still had girlfriends when I was your age - well, girlfriends, not girlfriends_ - and you two sit awfully close together, closer than my friends and I ever did..."_

Quinn, feeling her face burning, buries it in her hands, mumbling her discomfort.

"...And just now, when you got out of the car, you two were practically necking!"

Quinn's strangled "mom!" sounds like a dying hippopotamus at this point, and come on, because they so_ weren't necking, there was barely even any tongue and-_

* * *

Quinn slams her locker door shut with a loud _clang_. "Am I bad at keeping secrets?"

She's met with a snort and a "c'mon, Quinn, you can't _seriously_ be asking me that right now" as Santana rifles furiously through her locker, Brittany waiting patiently next to her, nodding along sagely.

"You told Sylvester about my surgery-"

"Boob job," is snapped instantly at Santana, accompanied by a "and it's not like that was a secret, everyone could see."

Santana pulls her head out of her locker to give Quinn a pointed look before busying herself in it once more. "Irregardless. And then there was that whole keeping sleeping with Puck secret from Finn that you kind of shot down. And then trying to hide the bacon from Puck's mom. And your hooking up with Rachel-"

"Okay, Santana, I get it. Thanks." Quinn falls back against her locker with a heavy sigh.

"You could have totally kept doing Puck a secret, Quinn," Brittany says idly, watching Santana over her shoulder, "if you would have just used contraband."

Quinn's halfway down the hall when she hears a triumphant whoop from Santana and an airy "hey, I guess that cockroach didn't steal your nail file after all, huh?" Shaking her head and smiling in spite herself, she rounds the corner to a wood paneled hallway, pulling her bag onto her lap as she settles gracefully onto the bench there, glancing both ways before pulling out a petite picnic blanket and arranging a few tupperware containers on top of it, and, finally contented with her work, pulling out her phone to check the time.

Rachel should have found the note in her locker about two minutes ago, meaning she should be rounding that corner - Quinn glances up, as if expecting to see an argyle skirt swishing around the corner that second - any second now.

So Quinn waits.

And she waits.

And either time is moving really slowly, because she feels like she's been waiting for like twenty minutes now and Rachel's not here yet, or Rachel isn't coming.

The warning bell rings.

Apparently, Rachel isn't coming.

Biting her lip and frantically blinking a couple times to clear her eyes, Quinn snatches up the containers, tossing them unceremoniously into her bag and shoving the blanket in on top of them, and, rising to her feet, zips it shut in one swift motion and heads toward the cafeteria.

Rachel's there.

Rachel's there, sitting at a table with _Puck_ of all people and laughing jovially, munching happily on a carrot stick like she's some sort of rabbit or something, and Quinn's furious.

Stomping over to their table, she comes to rest standing behind Puck, hands on her hips, lips pursed at Rachel. "Didn't you get my note?"

Rachel sighs, setting her carrot stick down and folding her hands delicately in front of her, glancing down at the table for a moment before looking up at Quinn. "Yes, Quinn, I did," she begins carefully, "and while I would love to have shared lunch with you at a spot in which I offered to let you punch me-"

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"-I'd promised Noah last week I would eat lunch with him today, and I figured you and I could share supper tonight instead in a more intimate location."

Puck's jaw tenses at Rachel's mention of "supper tonight," and prays Quinn isn't going to explode behind him.

"I can't tonight, Rachel," she all but growls out, "which is why I wanted to do lunch _today_."

"Well then, I'm terribly sorry Quinn, and I wish you would have informed me of your intentions sooner," Rachel swallows what's left of her carrot stick, "Planning ahead is key, you know. That way, perhaps you and I could have had lunch today, and Noah and I could have had supper together this evening."

"Sorry, Berry," Puck holds up his hands, "even if my babymama _would've_ planned ahead, I got plans tonight."

Rachel is quiet for once, biting the inside of her cheek, as Quinn's standing stock-still behind Puck, glaring down at the two of them, and then, as if deciding something, Rachel blinks, breaking the spell. "Besides, Quinn, it's not like all that food you prepared won't keep for a few days. We can eat it tomorrow."

Puck snorts underneath her and Quinn instantly deflates. "Really, Rach?"

Rachel bites her lip. "Calling my dads in the middle of family game night doesn't exactly constitute the most subtle way of finding out my favorite 'picnic treats,' Quinn."

Puck snorts again, and when Quinn turns to leave: "See you later to- See you later, Quinn."

If looks could kill, Noah Puckerman would be six feet under.

* * *

_Quinn's freaking out._

She's freaking out and she never thought she'd end up using that stupid Lamaze again but here she is, breathing in then out then again in the corner of the choir room.

She's instantly calmed, though, when she feels a small hand on the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles. "Hey Rachel," she hiccups.

"Hi you," Rachel chirps back, smiling. "You have a solo in," she glances up at the clock, "one minute."

All she's met with is a moan from Quinn.

"You're going to be great, Quinn," Rachel's hand is still making calming circles on her back and her low whisper is making Quinn breathe a little bit easier, and so Rachel's met with a hesitant nod. "You've done solos before, and they've been wonderful. Remember sectionals? You and Sam killed it."

Quinn wants to tell her that no, this is different, today is her girlfriend, Rachel Berry's, 17th birthday and she's about to serenade her and so it has_ to be perfect, but she can't exactly tell her that without spoiling the big surprise so she gulps and nods instead, turning around to take Rachel's hand and, squeezing it, make her way to the piano as Rachel goes to sit eagerly in the front row._

And then Brad starts playing and Quinn starts singing, and really she should just stop staring at Rachel's face because apparently singing "Happy Birthday" to Rachel in glee club was not_ what Rachel wanted for her birthday, and _crap_, she's messed up big time, she's ruined Rachel's 17th birthday, and the song is over and Rachel is tight-lipped but still clapping, and Quinn knows she's in for it, and clamping her eyes shut tight, she vows from that moment on that next year she's giving Rachel the greatest birthday present ever._

* * *

Quinn figures the only time she _can_ keep a secret is when it's a shitty one.

Like her half-baked idea to sing Rachel "Happy Birthday" on her birthday.

But tonight, Quinn Fabray is going to redeem herself. Tonight is Quinn Fabray's best-kept secret so far, and she's going to make sure it goes perfectly.

And so far, it is.

Mercedes and Kurt are decorating the Berrys' living room while Brittany and Mike are huddled around Mike's laptop, carefully constructing the perfect playlist and Tina and Artie - despite his protests that "that's the woman's job, yo" - are busy in the kitchen. Santana and Puck are out getting alcohol - Quinn doesn't want to know how exactly they're getting it, and if we're being honest here, she doesn't care - and Finn is keeping Rachel from coming home. (Quinn had had a few stern words with Finn about just what was okay to do with Rachel and just what wasn't.)

It's going well until Quinn is in the kitchen and hears the front door open and walks into the living room, determined to give Puck and Santana a piece of her mind for cutting it so close, only to find Rachel standing in the middle of the room barking out orders.

She's not sure if she's more upset Rachel's taken the "surprise" out of "surprise party" or that the room looks infinitely better now that Rachel's in command, but before she knows it, she's got Rachel's wrist in her grasp and she's puling her upstairs into her room.

"Quinn, before you say anything, this is not Finn's fault," Rachel's talking as soon as the door shuts, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder, massaging gently with her thumb, "I knew immediately once Puck slipped up at lunch today you were planning a surprise party for me, and while not exactly the most well-kept secret, this one's leaked status is by no fault of your own. Brittany texting me and asking what time I should show up at my house for my surprise party probably didn't hurt, either," she adds, and, smiling a bit and reaching up to cup Quinn's cheek, kisses her lips softly. "It's the thought that counts, Quinn."

This earns her a bit of a smile.

"And besides, there's not much you can do to lose my love at this point."

This earns her a full-blown one, and, downstairs, there's a loud bang and a "the party's here, bitches!" and the same whoop Quinn heard earlier that day in the hallway.

"It sounds like Puck and Santana are back," Rachel pulls her hand away from Quinn's face to tangle their fingers together instead, "so what do you say we go downstairs and have fun with our friends?" She takes a step towards the door, tugging Quinn's hand along with her, but Quinn doesn't budge. "Quinn?"

Quinn's grinning.

"What is it?"

Quinn's grin just grows. "You don't know, do you?"

"Don't know _what_, Quinn?" Rachel's voice is doing that thing it does where it gets higher and higher the more irritated she gets now, and Quinn loves it.

"You haven't figured it out."

Rachel drops her hand to cross her arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently. "Would you like to shed some light on whatever it is I'm apparently unaware of?"

"You don't know!" Quinn's wearing a full-blown grin and she's throwing her arms around Rachel, pulling her close and squeezing her tight and Rachel's sputtering a little, but Quinn doesn't care if she's having trouble breathing, because she's managed to keep this, this pivotal part of Rachel's present, secret. She, Quinn Fabray, has managed to keep an actual _secret_ from Rachel Berry, master sleuth ("I tried out for the role of Ashley in _The Adventures of Marky-Kate & Ashley: The Case of the Sea World Adventure,_" Rachel had once told her very seriously), and she's over the moon about it.

Before Rachel can protest anymore, though, Quinn's grabbing her and pulling her towards the bed where her letterman is laying, and, pulling what looks like a wrapped envelope out of the pocket, thrusts it into Rachel's hands.

Rachel blinks at her and furrows her brow a little bit, but undoes the wrapping anyway - taking her sweet time, Quinn thinks - and, turning the plain, cream-colored envelope over, opens it to pull out a piece of paper. "Quinn, this is addressed to you, I don't understand-"

Quinn just shakes her head, gesturing for Rachel to read on.

"Dear Quinn," Rachel mumbles, skipping the header, Quinn notes, to go straight for the body of the letter, "we are pleased to inform you you have been accepted to attend New York... University..." She stops now, and looking up at Quinn with glassy eyes, bites her lip: "Quinn, this... Is this a joke, I don't understand..."

Quinn's beaming as she reaches down to cup Rachel's face. "I applied early decision, Rach, and... I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise, but... But we're going to New York together. We're going-"

But she's cut off when she falls back onto the bed as Rachel throws her arms around her neck and leaps up, wrapping her legs around Quinn's waist and smothering Quinn's lips with her own.

Twenty minutes later, when the girls are walking back downstairs hand-in-hand and looking a little more rumpled but no worse for wear, Quinn silently thanks God that her acceptance letter was delivered earlier that afternoon, and not any earlier or any later. _But especially earlier,_ she adds grinning, and glancing at Rachel, pulls her down the last step and into her arms as Santana, looking at Mike's laptop over Brittany's shoulder, laughs and points at the screen, and, one light of Brittany's finger on the trackpad later, "Birthday Sex" is blasting from the loudspeakers.

Rachel gives Quinn a quick wink before pulling away to go dance with Kurt, and Quinn watches her go, grin plastered on her face.

Quinn Fabray is _great_ at keeping secrets.


End file.
